Chapter 4 of 7: Third Time's the Charm
(c) March 1, 2002, last update June 22, 2002
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Now that she's back from that soul vacation
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey
She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo
Reminds me that there's time to grow, hey, hey
Punch. Grunt. I'm used to this.
Punch. Grunt. I can handle this.
Punch. Punch. Solitude is comfortable.
Hook. Jab. Punch. I've been taking things for granted recently.
Kick. Punch. Kick. It's time to bring back the brooding.
Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. It's time for the old Angel to make a reappearance.
Round-house kick. Angel snarled, his chest heaving. I'm back.
This was the Angel he remembered from his first year in L.A. Vicious. Predatory. Angst-ridden.
Three and a half, nearly four years later, he still showed no mercy. As always, he sparked fear in demons.
Since stepping foot in L.A., he hadn't changed a bit, at least not outwardly. There still remained the same mysterious dark knight, lurking in shady corners and protecting the weak and helpless from amongst the shadows.
I was not my most formidable when I was Angelus. Punch. Punch. My best years were not in Sunnydale. Kick. Knee. Jab. I can still fight with the best of them. Angel halted, poised to land his final assault. I'm still me.
He stared at the punching bag in front of him, then lowered his arms to his sides. I'm still me.
The truth was, he knew better. The reality was that he didn't know what he was anymore. And he was starting to understand that he never knew who he really was.
It was a lot easier when I was Angelus. He recalled his evil alter ego, and the way he had felt when his other self had taken over. I took everything I wanted. I never pretended to be happy. I felt like I could take on the world and more. But who was I then? A tyrant? An agent of evil? Was that really me? Is that still me? Angel closed his eyes to that time.
It wasn't easy in Sunnydale. But it was simpler. I understood my wants and needs. I understood myself. He thought of the years living on the Hellmouth. His memories of a pretty, petite blonde brought sorrow to his eyes.
And as much as I wanted it to work, I knew, deep down, it could never be. That I would end up hurting myself and the one I loved, the most. I lived underground, in sewers. She fought against my world. Yet, I couldn't ever leave it. Angel averted his eyes, holding his head in grief. It's over.
Angel looked up again. I really did it this time. He wiped his forehead and somberly sat on the basement steps. I should never have laughed with her. I should never have become friends with her. I should never have let her enter my world. I should never have let her in.
Images of the beautiful brunette floated in his head. A wave of emotions swept in his chest. He balled his hands into fists. So, I'm learning the hard way again. He gritted his teeth and got up to face the punching bag again. She says she'll stay with me.
Punch. Kick. With her big hazel eyes and shining her brilliant million-dollar smile, she says she'll wait for me.
Hook. Hook. Turn. Kick. She'll hold my hand while I look for redemption.
Turn. Punch. I love her optimism. Turn. Kick. I live for her dreams. Turn. Whack. I'll probably still outlive her, wishing for a miracle.
He rested, his eyes bitter and broken. I can't let her. Or watch her waste her life. Not for me. Never.
He gave a bitter laugh. What makes you think it's your decision? After all, she had been given the choice to relinquish her powers. Forego the visions and lead a normal, successful, and happy life.
And yet, she had clung to them. Stuck with him.
Beneath the exterior of every great champion beats the heart of a great man. Behind every great man is a great woman. Yes, that certainly applied to me.
First Darla. Then Buffy. Now, Cordelia.
Darla created Angelus. She had molded his dark, savage and villainous persona. He didn't have the self-restraint to leave her until he had been gifted with his curse. Of which there was a higher price in return.
He had been reborn with Buffy. She had made him feel young again, rejuvenated, without the crutch of power and destruction. She gave him a new purpose in life, but life with her proved fleeting. Having experienced a taste of true happiness, he had to leave, knowing that it would never revisit him again. Not with her gift. Not with his. But I'm past that.
And what did Cordelia do to him?
Pried her way into my world. Fit me into different colours. Bullied her way into my affections.
He rested his head against the bag he was punching. He recalled all those times she had reminded him how to laugh. Reducing me to an ineffectual, grinning idiot.
He remembered how she fiercely stood by him, no matter how great his mistakes. Melting the icy pain and anguish in my past. And how she declared him her best friend every day, in little ways.
As well as kept the key to his heart.
More than ever, he knew he had to grant her one gift, the only gift he could give her. I have to let her go.
The shrill ring of his phone shocked him out of his thoughts. He picked it up and answered the call. He only needed one guess as to who was calling.
"Angel." Cordy said breathlessly, over the phone. "I need to talk to you." The stress in her voice caused Angel to tense up.
"What's wrong, Cordy?" Angel asked, alarmed. Please say you're alright.
"I'm okay." Cordy said, some of the tension leaving her voice. "You don't have to worry about me." I always do. Her next few words surprised him. "I want to talk about you."
"What about me?" Angel queried, warily. This is usually the time that I bolt for the exit.
"I want to talk to you about our conversation last night," Cordy answered cautiously. "The way you just hung up on me."
Should have realized you'd notice the brusque way I ended it. Of course you'd call me on it.
"It was nothing." Angel denied. "No biggie." Let's total the tally of lies now. I know lies, mine especially, eat you up. And you can probably spot them before they come out of my mouth. "You know, I'm glad I get to hear your voice." Distract her. She's easily distracted with compliments.
"Yeah, well...it's good to hear your voice too." Cordy said, a little suspiciously. So you're not that easy to distract anymore. My, how you've changed. But then, she asked, "What are you doing?"
"Just kickboxing in the basement."
"Oh good, while you're dwelling over your broody thoughts from last night, you're keeping in shape. But wait, I'm not getting any classical music vibes. Oh god," she said in mock horror. "Could it be you're agonizing in silence?"
"Ha ha. Got it." Angel mock-laughed. "I thought you wanted me in the lighter colours."
"You're right." she somberly acquiesced. Complying, she switched topics. "How's the gang?" she asked. "Didn't get a chance to talk about them much before."
"They're great. They've decided to hunt down this extremely elusive group that has been on our most-wanted list for months. They've thwarted our efforts to find them previously, but we're not leaving any stone unturned without seeking them out and demanding what's rightfully ours."
Cordy let out a giggle. "So, you finally sent someone out to collect our payments, huh? I'm so proud of you." Angel beamed into the receiver with pride.
"You are always on my case about being too nice. Just taking a chapter from Cordy's rule book."
"The only one that counts." Cordy shot back confidently. Unexpectedly, she let out a huge sigh. "If you get the chance, tell them that Sunnydale's answer to cheerleading is totally rooting for them."
I'm detecting that hint of sadness again. What's going on?
"Is Connor awake?" she abruptly asked. Not a strange request. But why do I sense...?
"Uh... no. I put him down for the night. Come to think of it, you would know that already.
"Oh." she said quietly, her tone tinged with vexation.
I'm not imagining it this time. Angel's eyes narrowed. You said you're calling about me. But we're not talking about me... So, why are you really calling?
"You know, there's no special reason for me to call. I just wanted to ... talk." Cordy's soft voice cut in.
Angel decided not to beat around the bush this time. "What's wrong, Cordy?" he asked again, firmly. "Why are you calling me?"
Cordy let out a breath and he knew she'd blown a strand of hair out of her face. "I ..." she started. Then, as if changing her mind, she hesitated. "I asked you first." she finally said, pointedly. "The first time I called. And at the beginning of this phone call."
Is this the game we're playing now? This isn't like you. You know I'm dense. Spell it out for me. Please. Angel let out a low growl, "Cordy..." he said warningly.
"Angel..." she hurled back. "You've obviously been depressed about something. It's always the same with you. I'm not deemed worthy enough to hear your feelings."
"That's not true." Angel refuted. How do I get myself out of this? "It's something I don't do often. Unlike you."
His remark only seemed to infuriate her.
"I'm tired of sharing my feelings all the time." she snapped. "Just because you never change the way you handle your issues doesn't mean that I won't. You've been burned before. I get it. You think you never get the breaks. Well, I'm trying to give one to you. And even if you still think you've got a valid reason to keep wallowing in your righteous self-pity labeled 'Just for Angel' misery... that's just cowardly. So until you get over it, I don't want to talk to you anymore." With that, she hung up.
Angel gawked at his phone, the dial tone beeping at him insistently. What just happened...?
He looked at the punching bag. Carefully, he set down his phone, still beeping relentlessly. He drew back his arm and delivered the hardest blow to the bag he could manage.
The chain snapped. The bag crashed to the floor. And the phone kept beeping.
Now that she's back in the atmosphere
I'm afraid that she might think of me as plain ol' Jane
Told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land